Ian cleared his throat, drawing the others’ attention. “We’ve strayed from our original discussion. The question before us is whether we should leave the Games and take you safely home to Grey Gables.”
Annie sat quiet for a moment before answering. “I see no reason to leave and force everyone else to miss out on hours more of fun. Ian—you said yourself that if Athena had been sent to harm, she would have. So, obviously she wasn’t. And the singer also did no harm. Music doesn’t maim.” She tried to lighten things with a small laugh. “We haven’t seen the dancing for Emily or the sheepdog trials, which I know you want to see.”
“And don’t forget the kilt-making demonstration,” added Alice. “We might meet some other crafters from other Maine towns. I know Mary Beth would appreciate that.”
Ian pulled a white handkerchief out of his pocket and waved it. “I surrender. I know when I’m beat.”
Wally clapped him on the shoulder. “You gave it a good try, Ian. But it’s impossible to change the mind of stubborn womenfolk. It’s like trying to dictate Maine weather.”
“Does that mean we can stop talking and go watch the dancing now?” asked Emily.
The defeated man tucked his flag of surrender back into his pocket and smiled at her. “Yes, Em. That’s exactly what it means.”
The dancer sprang out of her chair and tugged on Wally’s arm. “Come on, Dad. Mr. Mayor says we can go! I don’t want to miss it!”
“Hold on a sec,” Wally told his daughter and quickly consulted the Games schedule and map before standing up and taking her hand. “Now I know where we need to go. You wouldn’t want to end up watching the Highland cattle dancing, now would you?”
Emily giggled and rolled her eyes. “Cows can’t dance!” The mood lightened, and the adults put aside the baffling events that had preceded and followed the dancing girl out of the tent and toward Stage 3. Ian, however casual his demeanor, kept his eyes moving from crowd to sky, ever vigilant.
The group from Stony Point spied some seats located in the center of the rows from where they would be able to see every part of the stage, including the pipers standing on the edge of the platform. As they arranged themselves, Emily sitting on her father’s lap for an even better vantage point, the next Premier dance category was announced: the Seann Triubhas.
Three girls who looked to be in the twelve- to fourteen-year age range stepped onto the platform and formed a line, leaving about five feet of space between them. With their hands on their hips and their heels together with their toes turned out, they stood like statues as the piping began. Then, hinging at the waist, they solemnly bowed and began their dance, stepping to the side and back before moving in a circle on one foot at a time—first the right and then the left.
Emily leaned forward in her father’s lap, as though to be as close to the movement as possible, her eyes darting back and forth between the three dancers before settling on one. “The dancer in red is the best,” she whispered to Peggy who was sitting next to her. The girl in the red tartan sprang more quickly and lightly, keeping perfect time to the music. Further into the song, one of the other dancers mistakenly turned in the opposite direction from the other two. The young dancer from Stony Point sighed in understanding. The first time Emily had danced in a recital she realized that performing in front of a bunch of people you don’t know was harder than she had expected. But she was getting used to it now. She felt sorry for the girl who was several years older than her and yet still showed such nervousness.
After two and a half minutes of dancing, the song ended with a final bow, and the three dancers trotted off the stage to make room for the next group. By the time the next four groups had taken their final bows, the folks from Stony Point had developed a strong appreciation for the difficulty of the Seann Triubhas dance.
Alice leaned over toward Peggy and Annie, “You always hear about the Highland Fling, but this one looks more difficult to me.” She paused to read the brochure to see what would be the next dance in the competition. “Oh—the Sword Dance is after this. That’s a cool one too.”
Emily tore her gaze from the dancers approaching the platform. “Miss Alice, have you ever danced the Sword Dance?”
“Oh, no, Emily,” Alice answered with a laugh. “That’s too complicated for me! But I bet you could master just about any dance you want to.”
Peggy had not missed her daughter’s rapt expression while watching the Seann Triubhas. “Something tells me it’s a good thing we’re going to that kilt-making demonstration.” She moved her eyes to the feet of the dancers lining up for the dance. “And I better start saving for new dance shoes. Em doesn’t have any like those. I’ll have to ask around about them.”